Relazations Come in Time
by crazed spyromaniac
Summary: I’ve lived in Lawndale all my life, and went to the school with the same morons that comprised most of the minimum waged work force. How they ended up was really no surprise to anyone; it was expected. Just like it was expected for her to leave this hell


**Realizations Come in Time**

_ Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day_

_You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way _

I walked down the dark deserted streets of the home town I never left. My eyes drooped warily, as if they needed to be propped open from the typically tedious routine I lived by since the day she died.

I mean I've lived in Lawndale all my life, and went to the school with the same morons that comprised most of the minimum waged work force. How they ended up was really no surprise to anyone; it was expected. Just like it was expected for her to leave this hell hole, and become famous, or at least amount to something greater than decomposing biodegradable waste for the worms and other insects that delved deep beneath the earth.

_ Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown_

_Waiting for someone or something to show you the way _

Gently kicking a stone away from me, I found myself in front of the brown-red rusted iron gate leading into the cemetery. I visited the cemetery often, even though there were plenty of places and people I had to see.

Every week, I came to visit her grave as if waiting for an answer or for her to somehow lead me back onto the path that I strayed so far from when she died. Her death, as I mentioned, was so sudden, no one really recovered from her death, except the few that were too callous to care.

I laid a single red rose upon her cold grave stone, and gently traced the engraving lightly with my finger. It shouldn't have been her that died on that cool summer night; all she did was simply be at the wrong place at the wrong time. A gentle breeze blew against my already sallow and cool skin. Slowly the memory of the accident came to me, as it always did when I visited her.

_Jane stared at me with a quirked eye-brow, as she attempted to explain to me the laws of a crush, and the betrayal that went along with being curshed. Ignoring her blatant and mildly annoying insinuations about myself and Daria, I continued to walk down the street. The night was cool, and Jane was lightly jogging down the street as she always did around dusk. She claimed it helped keep her in shape; I think it was just a stress reliever for her to function normally._

_She had received a call earlier that day, informing her that there was going to be a keg party at some random jock's house, which was typical in a small town like Lawndale. Normally, the only people that even bothered to attend to these social things were the jocks, the cheerleaders and the other "popular" folk that felt it was their duty to attend these lame things. She was very surprised when the voice on the other line informed her that Daria, of all people was attending._

_Jane, being the incredibly gifted actress that she prided herself in being, continued to put up the facade that she did not care. She never could lie to me, I was family and could always tell when she was pretending to be alright._

"_Hey, Janey?"_

"_Yeah, Trent?"_

"_Why are you pretending not to care about Daria? I think she's hurting just as bad as you."_

_Janey pursed her lips until they formed an almost non-existent line, before slowly saying, "She has Tom now."_

_I nodded my head in understanding. She was still hurting over the betrayal that friends never get over. My mind wandered a bit as we approached the large two story Victorian mansion. Lights flooded the front yard, and music pumped from the speakers so loudly that the ground vibrated beneath our feet. Already did the trademark red plastic party cups litter the lawn, like fallen candy dropped by guilty children. Jane bit her lip, and I knew what she was trying to decide._

_Pushing by her, I walked inside the huge house. The stench of stale alcohol and bitter acrid smoke assaulted my nose, and teenagers mingled amongst each other clearly ignoring me, and continuing to do their own thing. It was not hard to spot Daria standing off to the side, holding one of those plastic cups in her hand, looking completely out place. Her glasses kept sliding from her face, and her movements themselves appeared to be wary and sluggish. Her eyes, though, were fixed upon her beautiful, yet shallow sister who was currently chatting with some new male victim._

_Janey materialized at my shoulder, and stared at Daria for a moment, before saying, "Look, she's fine. We can go now."_

"_No, she's not Janey."_

_I made my way over toward her, and she glanced at me with a surprised expression. She gave a slight smile, something she rarely gave to anyone these days or ever come to think of it. _

"_What are you doing at a thing like this?" I asked casually._

"_Baby-sitting," she replied smoothly, "Although, I do believe my shift is over nowish."_

"_Are you leaving then?"_

"_Yeah."_

_With that she walked out of the house with me and we walked a ways, before Jane ran up from behind us. _

"_Yo," she said casually, and Daria nodded her head in reply._

_Silently, we walked down the street, back to our homes. We did not see the car behind us weaving wildly in and out of the road until the headlights were glaring against Daria's pale face as she turned around to see what was going on behind her. _

_She did not yell, or shriek as the headlights drew closer to us. Instead she grabbed me and Jane and pushed us away from danger. She paused for a moment, attempting to make the split-second decision as to whether or not she would live against the odds if she tried to move, and decided against it. She stood there, waiting for the truck to strike her. _

_Slowly, like in one of those cheesy romance scenes from a horrible movie, the truck hit her petite body. She flew through the air, limply like a discarded rag doll, and her thick framed glasses tumbling through the air. They landed on the ground with a splintering crack, and her broken body soon followed with a sickening thud of skin and bone connecting with cement._

_Blood poured from several large gashes in her face, but most of the blood came from the large hole in her skull. I remember running over to her, holding her broken body in my arms, and just cradling her. Janey rushed to my side, and held one of her talented and delicate hands, sobbing silently and begging her to live._

"_Daria, I am so sorry. We have fought over things so petty, I haven't the chance to apologize. Please, Daria, I need you here to keep me sane. I swear you were the only other one not affected by the Lawndale toxic waste."_

_Daria's eyes fluttered open a bit, and she strained to turn her eyes toward Jane. She gasped for breath, and an awful gurgling sound erupted from her throat. Her eyes, so often hidden behind her dark frames rolled to the back of her head. Her body shuddered in my arms, and she coughed up thick chunks of clotted blood. She stopped breathing soon after, and angered I watched the truck skid to a screeching halt several feet away from us, and saw Daria's sister tumble out from it._

_Her eyes widened in horror and shock at the sight of her sister lying in my arms, and for once in my life I saw Ms. Perfect loose her cool. As sirens blasted in the background, and their flashing red and blue lights appeared to be purple in the starry night, her drunken boy toy stumbled from the truck. Jane watched with slitted eyes as Quinn screamed shrilly at the boy, who cowered from her. _

"_Upchuck," she growled, before stalking over toward the feuding couple, but stopped as Quinn's last sentence sliced through the cool night air..._

"_... All I wanted was a ride home! And you couldn't even be smart enough to do that!"_

The ambulance and police came too late for Daria, and her death left Janey and myself with this void in our hearts. I never thought Daria to be a person to play hero, but I suppose I really didn't know her as well as I thought.

The funeral was the hardest to go to, and Janey almost did not go. I coaxed her out of her room an hour before, and upon arriving there we were immediately accosted by her family. They thanked us and cried on us, begging us to tell them if she suffered or not, and what here last words were. We could not bring ourselves to tell them the truth, and instead told them the lies they wanted to so readily believe.

After the funeral, and everyone had left, Janey stood next to her grave for hours. She did not speak, cry or move. It was almost like she felt that if she stood there long enough, she herself would die with her best friend. I stood next to the open hole, and gently tossed my red roses amongst the white lilies. I remember cursing the boy who killed her, forever locking her into this hell hole of a town.

A year later, Janey was one of the few lucky ones to make it out of Lawndale. She was accepted to her art school, from one of the many paintings she based off of Daria or odd inside jokes that were painted into well developed themes or abstract ideas.

Quinn, she graduated early. Her family never really recovered from Daria's death. If anything, they drifted even farther apart then they already were. She based her college on her sister's death, and the finalized copy she got published into some random short story book.

_And then one day you find ten years have got behind you_

_No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun _

Ten years have passed since she died, and the pain is still fresh in my heart. It took me awhile to figure out why, but now I realize though a little late, I loved her. Damn relazations; they always seem to come to late. I am the last one here to remember her. Her family has long since left, and her friends have grown and living lives that she never got the chance to live. Like Janey, I can not forget her, but unlike Janey, I do not feel guilty over her death, just remorse for lost time. She taught me a lot about myself, and I am proud to say that because of her, I am not that lazy little boy that stays at home and sleeps. I own a small music store on Dega Street, and buisness has gone well since I opened it. On the side I also give guitar lessons, something Daria once suggested I do.

Most people believe that when a person dies, they are just dead. Eventually, their names are no longer spoken, and people forget them. These people fail to see how death teaches others lessons to improve their lives, and those touched will never forget the catalyst that helped them.. I stayed there for a moment, speaking quietly to her, before leaving the cemetery with the promise to be back next week or perhaps sooner.

As the gates creaked shut, and I walked against the cold wind, I traced the broken frames in my pocket. I went into my warm house, where my wife, Amy, greeted me warmly, and questioned me about my day. I responded brightly and pulled my coat and hung it on the wall. I love my wife; she does not question or assume about my whereabouts, because she knows how I feel, after all she was Daria's aunt.

Once she asked me if she was a replacement for Daria. I smiled to myself a bit, and pulled her into my arms. I whispered in her ear, "No one could replace Daria, just like no one can replace you. I love you both, just in different ways."

She had smiled and it was that smile that told me she understood.

Although I moved on with my life, I figure that in time I can thank Daria for the great deeds she helped so many achieve, but most of all, she helped me understand what was missing from my life. For that, Daria Morgendorfer will live forever.

AN: I do own the Daria cast or characters or the song _Time_ by Pink Floyd.


End file.
